Earthling Hero

By Anita Laydon Miller

An amazing $.99 science fiction ebook for kids by a nationally recognized book columnist.

Boys and girls alike will not be able to put down this book! –D. Karchut

(EARTHLING HERO) nails its place as great, easy entertainment. Five Stars! –B. Langhinrichs

EARTHING HERO starts with action, and keeps it up throughout. –R. Daly

11-year-old Mikey Murphy wakes to find a stranger in his room—a kid who looks exactly like him. Meeting his alien clone and his clone’s sister is just the start of Mikey’s adventures. Can he befriend the siblings, bust into a military installation, fight expert assassins, discover an evil alien’s lair and save the world?

It's hard to put this one down...You can only catch your breath when you get to the end! –J. Dellazanna

I enjoyed the book and it will be the first book that my children read on an ereader! –T. Lee

If you like fun, exciting science fiction adventures for kids and kids-at-heart, then EARTHLING HERO may be the best ebook for you!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anita Laydon Miller
• Release date: Mar 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458199041

Anita Laydon Miller

Anita Laydon Miller began daydreaming before she could write her name. Now she turns her daydreams into stories and writes them (and her name) just fine. Anita lives in Colorado with her husband and four children. She enjoys making homemade tortillas and running from bears.

Book preview

EARTHLING HERO:

A Science Fiction Ebook Adventure for Kids

Anita Laydon Miller

Published by Anita Laydon Miller at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Anita Laydon Miller

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

http://www.anitalaydonmiller.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CHAPTER ONE

Mikey Murphy’s nights as a sound sleeper were about to end. But he’d had a good run of them. With acres of Colorado forest surrounding his home, he spent his summer days climbing boulders, building pine tree forts and harassing squirrels—all activities that resulted in long, uninterrupted slumber.

And tonight, it wasn’t even the pesky moths that woke Mikey. Sure, the little creatures drove his parents nuts with the drunken-like way they flew into things. But to Mikey, a few insects here and there posed nothing to worry about.

On the June night our story begins, however, something did wake and worry Mikey. Or, more precisely, someone.

The boy lay asleep on his back, his limbs splayed this way and that, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. His subconscious blamed the tap on a kamikaze moth, and he rolled over and ignored it. But when Wake up, already, followed the next tap, Mikey sat straight up and groped for his bedside lamp.

No. Don’t, whispered the voice. They’ll see the bright light. Here, I’ll flip on a flashlight.

Mikey’s heart collided with the roof of his mouth. The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn’t his dad’s deep southern drawl or his mom’s vowel-heavy Mexican accent. Who could be in his room?

A second later, a flashlight’s beam appeared near the bed. It shone on a boy about Mikey’s age. A kid he didn’t know, but whose face belonged to someone he knew better than anyone—himself.

Two dark eyes, identical to his own, bore into him. The curly, coal-black hair exactly matched. The cheekbones, high and sharp, were the same. Like his, the other boy’s nose was average and uninteresting. But the situation? Most definitely not.

The hair on Mikey’s arms stood straight up and every drop of moisture left his mouth. He thought about screaming, but doubted his parents would hear him—his room was on the second floor and their suite was in the basement. Mikey scuttled backwards until his spine pushed against the headboard.

When he stopped moving the boy started talking, You’re going to be a good kid, aren’t you? Nice and quiet?

The questions hit Mikey like a combination punch. His whole life he’d been a good kid, who did whatever any authority figure expected of him. And if kids teased him because he knew all the answers, or because he spent more afternoons hiking than social networking, Mikey ignored them, because that’s what his parents told him to do.

Mikey’s parents’ scientific work supplied America with the world’s best peace-keeping weapons and intelligence. Drs. Doug and Maria Murphy asserted that their work prevented wars, not created them. And they raised their son to also seek peace.

Most of the time, Mikey agreed that being a peaceful kid, a good kid, was the way to go. But not this time.

Every cell in Mikey’s body urged him to fight. A stranger stood in his room. Could there be any more reason to finally stick up for himself?

Mikey threw his Denver Broncos comforter aside and lunged at the intruder. "No, I’m gonna make you be quiet."

Mikey and the mystery boy fell to the floor with an umph. Their shadows bounced around Mikey’s room, flying across space shuttle posters, and blanketing shelves of model rockets.

At first Mikey thought he could take the kid, if for no other reason than he usually got his way. While Mikey didn’t display aggression, he didn’t avoid risk. He called the great Rocky Mountains his playground, and though he played hard, he usually came out unscathed. Tiene suerte, his mom would say—Mikey was lucky.

Tonight, however, his luck ran out. As Mikey threw punches, the other boy dodged them. And even when Mikey got a kick in, his opponent remained unmiffed. The other boy’s limbs seemed impossibly flexible, his muscles unnaturally strong. As Mikey felt his own muscles tire, and his body give out, gratitude flashed through his brain. Thank God nobody’s watching this.

But unbeknownst to Mikey, millions of spectators did watch the scuffle. And millions of hearts ached for Mikey, because they knew he didn’t stand a chance.

I believe you’ve had enough, the look-alike said. Then, in a manner that showed he’d always been in control, the boy sat on Mikey’s chest, grabbed both Mikey’s wrists, and held them tight in just one hand. While Mikey tried to buck him off, the boy used his free hand to reach into a side pocket of the backpack he wore. He pulled out a small glass spray bottle shaped like links on a chain.

What? You’re gonna spray perfume on me? On the outside, Mikey sounded sarcastic and cocky. On the inside, however, he decided it was time to scream.

Before he could get his yell out, the boy sprayed him with something warm. It smelled like pumpkin pie, only it wasn’t sweet. The spray made Mikey’s face tingle, his fingernails itch and his eyes roll back in his head.

And then Mikey Murphy—the boy who camped out in blizzards and saved all his allowances for white water rafting trips—got knocked out cold for the first time in his life.

CHAPTER TWO

When Mikey came to, the situation had not improved. If anything¸ it had grown worse. The look-alike had pulled the bedroom curtains open, and stood at the second-story window, pushing it up. His flashlight was off and a layer of clouds dimmed the full moon’s light.

Even with the poor lighting, Mikey could make out the silhouette of blue spruce branches and a smattering of stars. His mom’s Kokopelli wind chimes sang from the backyard deck and an owl hooted in the distance. Mikey couldn’t see his family’s flag pole, poised in the middle of the front lawn, but he could hear the flag’s rivets clanging lightly against the pole. Mikey pictured the floodlights on the American flag, shining in respect.

This was Mikey’s world. And he had to protect it.

As the intruder pushed the window open the last few inches, Mikey decided to make his move. He’d knock the guy right out the window if he had to. He didn’t want to, but he would. Only as Mikey tried to jump up, he simply couldn’t. Not one hair moved, not one muscle twitched.

Panic flooded his brain. Neurons firing, he considered every cause for his immobility. Spider bite. Extreme fear. Spinal cord injury. Botulism. Stroke. But in his gut, Mikey knew how he’d ended up this way. It was the spray. The pumpkin-pie-smelling spray. Mikey tried to scream, but the sound went no further than the inside of his head. His voice lay paralyzed too.

Oh, excellent. You’re conscious. The boy had finished his work at the window, and moved next to where Mikey was sprawled on the floor. Allow me to introduce myself. The boy leaned over, inches from his face. I’m Axe.

Mikey lay motionless and scared. He stared up at Axe, the sleep-crashing kid who sounded like he had an etiquette book up his rear and looked like he’d been carved out of Mikey’s mirror.

I’m sure you’d normally shake my hand, Axe continued, but I’ve given you a bit of Shut-up and Sit-still Spray, making your customary greeting impossible. The spray’s not much fun—my mother blasted me last week and I hated it more than anything—but you’ve given me no choice. You’d jeopardize everything without it.

Mikey had no idea what this Axe person was talking about. He only wanted to shout to his parents for help. But Mikey didn’t have long to entertain these thoughts. Axe effortlessly lifted him off the floor and carried him across the room.

Mikey couldn’t figure out how Axe managed the movement. They were about the same size (at Mikey’s physical the month before, he was five feet, three inches tall and weighed one hundred and ten pounds), yet Axe lifted and cradled him no problemo. Even in Mikey’s disturbed state, he made a mental note to start working out.

But no amount of exercise could’ve prepared him for what happened next. Axe took Mikey to the window ledge and sat down on the sill, facing the room. Then, with Mikey limp on his lap, Axe carefully swiveled on the sill and swung their legs over the edge.

For several seconds the pair perched on the sill as if admiring the view. A cool breeze waved the branches in the trees, and even with the Shut-up and Sit-still Spray, Mikey felt the crisp Colorado air through his t-shirt and gym shorts, and he felt the air dry his sweaty feet. He pointed his eyes downward and saw his darkened yard. It was a long way down. Mikey’s blood ran cold with fear.

Listen, Axe said. This must be really frightening for you, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all that. The important thing to remember is that I mostly know what I’m doing, and for the next few minutes at least, you’re going to be perfectly fine.

Mikey did not feel ‘perfectly fine’ and his bad feelings only intensified when Axe started to count. One. Two. Threeeee!

On three, Axe strengthened his already tight grasp around Mikey, took a deep breath, and jumped off the windowsill.

In the two seconds Mikey dropped into the night, he wondered if the spray would lessen the pain if he lived through the fall. He thought of his parents and all the stuff he should’ve said gracias for. And he longed for the hugs he’d squirmed out of.

But there was no pain, and not even a real fall. Axe landed on the backyard’s patch of Kentucky bluegrass like a cat jumping from a chair to the floor, Mikey still in his arms. Mikey let out an internal sigh of relief and vowed to appreciate his parents more. If he ever got the chance.

Alrighty, then, Axe said, throwing Mikey over his shoulder, so Mikey’s face was against Axe’s back. We don’t have enough time to warn your parents, which is unfortunate, but I think the two of us can remain undetected.

Mikey stressed out about his parents while his face bounced against the back of the now-moving Axe. What did they need to be warned about?

Axe ran into the forest behind the house, seemingly unfazed by the weight of his human load. Now that tree house, Axe said, pointing his chin toward the structure the Murphys had built high in a cottonwood, is not a good hiding spot. Not at all. But it’s the best idea I’ve got. And if we keep the rope ladder down, then they might not even look at it, right? Because what kind of fool would leave the ladder down?

If Mikey wasn’t worried before (and God knows he was), he neared total freak-out stage now. According to this Axe character, someone was hunting him, someone even worse than Axe himself. And Mikey would be cornered in the tree house. Paralyzed. With the ladder down.

Mikey struggled to break the effects of the spray. He pictured the physical fitness awards he’d won at school. He thought of the half-marathon he’d run with his dad last fall and how he’d gotten strong enough this summer to lift his mom off the floor.

But nothing worked. He couldn’t budge. His eyes moved, and his heart beat, and that was it. He couldn’t break free from the spray.

Axe reached the tree house’s rope ladder, and with only a little trouble, he climbed the thing while carrying Mikey. As the pair plopped onto the landing, a car roared into the Murphy’s gravel driveway.

I’d tell you ‘Shhh,’ Axe said, but I don’t think it’s necessary, in light of your condition.

Mikey gave the boy the best dirty look he could muster, and Axe said, I know. The joke was in poor taste. Just trying to stay sane here.

Axe propped Mikey up against the back wall of the tree house. From his vantage point, Mikey could barely see the car that pulled up to his house. Axe moved closer to the tree house window and, keeping himself in the shadows, he watched